


Token

by Cadence7



Series: Hail the King of Death [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anal Sex, Death of a loved one, First Love, Flashbacks, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Sex, Smut, Subspace, oh look kink, y'all know what's gonna happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:43:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7208201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cadence7/pseuds/Cadence7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran asks an innocent question and gets a glimpse of a side of Eoin that's constantly buried under a layer of humor. Oh there's some smut too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Token

“ _Mi coraz_ _ó_ _n,”_ Zevran spoke the words softly so as not to shatter the quiet moment he and the hulking warrior he'd come to care so deeply for shared. “what is this?” The assassin's fingers traced over the engraved token on a silver chain resting against Eoin's chest. In the many months since meeting, he'd never once seen his lover without this talisman.

“Not much of anything anymore. You think we could trade it for a decent meal?” To anyone else, except perhaps their red-headed bard, the laugh that followed would sound as jovial and natural as any other. But Zevran intimately knew the differences in Eoin's laughs. This was his _'change direction of conversation'_ laugh, the one that was most common. It pained the assassin to know that his lover hid so much away, though he himself was truly no better.

“Just the chain would be enough for a few hot meals, I think.” The blond elf stated with a wry tone, fingers inching away from the silver token to instead run his dexterous fingers through dark brown chest hair. He refused to pry into Eoin's thoughts, the man had been very patient and gracious when it came to Zevran's past, never once pushing for more. It was the least Zevran could do to offer the same courtesy.

“The engraving on it is two sprigs of elfroot,” Honey-gold eyes flicked up to look at Eoin's face as the man spoke, before slipping back down with a noncommittal hum, burnished bronze fingers still stroking through the coarse hair on the speaker's torso. “my family crest.” The fingers paused and once again the assassin looked up, this time his gaze remained on the rugged face above, intently watching the emotions – or lack thereof – of his lover. “I was once rather deeply involved with someone far below my station. The blacksmith's apprentice. He'd just given it to me before– before he–” The words caught in his throat and the green-blue eyes of the remaining Cousland were far away, in another time and place.

<> <> <>

Strong, calloused hands pinned his wrists together behind his back and a hot mouth laved kisses across his shoulders as powerful thrusts wrung cries of intense pleasure from his throat. They were fucking on the floor in front of the fireplace. It was no where near as romantic as the Orlesian novels had led Eoin to believe, but far more to his tastes.

For one thing, even the plushness of the rug beneath him couldn't save him from the tingling pain in his knees after supporting his weight with them for so long. The ~~best~~ worst thing though, was that if he dropped his hips, if he took even _a little_ bit of the pressure off his knees, then it would be his _cock_ rubbing up against the rug which, he had quickly learned, was _not_ a pleasant sensation by any means. The position put a lot of strain on his thigh muscles and he was sure that his chest would be covered in rug-burn after this. It was worth it though, because the forced arch of his back had the wonderful effect of making it all too easy for his lover to nail that peculiar bundle of nerves responsible for the very best orgasms.

Another hard thrust and he faltered – his hips dropped that fraction of an inch more, his cock pushed against the rug in a torturous skid. Eoin nearly sobbed. He was beyond desperation at this point, brought so close to the edge that even rutting against the carpet had brought more pleasure than pain. He _needed_ his release, _needed_ to be permitted his climax and he said as much.

He twisted and begged, torn between rubbing his cock raw against the coarse fabric beneath him and waiting for his lover to bring him over. Surely just a _touch_ of one of those hands would be enough to send him soaring. Just a single touch to his aching, bruised member and he'd finally have relief.

Again and again his lover pushed in and then pulled back, savage thrusts that had Eoin shouting and pleading for that little bit _more,_ that hair _extra._ His pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears for all the good they did. Eventually he couldn't voice them anymore, couldn't form the words. His ecstatic shouts shifted into broken sobs and whimpers that he was no longer aware of, let alone had control over.

And just like that, the torment ended. One of the heavily scarred hands left his wrists and wrapped instead around his cock. Not even a full stroke and he was coming, screaming his release for all to hear, and writhing in his lover's hold. In that blissful moment, everything faded away from him and he drifted, carefree and unbound to this world. By the time he came back to his body, he was cleaned up and tucked into bed, his lover carding his fingers through his hair. Attentive as ever, Aengus took notice.

“There you are, precious.” Aengus smiled his lopsided smile and Eoin couldn't help but reciprocate with his own tired and satisfied grin. “You went in pretty deep that time.”

“So did you.” He shifted a bit and faked a wince for dramatic effect. As the other man laughed, Eoin's chest swelled. He could never tire of drawing out a laugh from his lover. After Aengus' laughter ebbed, they lay together, simply enjoying the closeness, Eoin's head cushioned on Aengus' lap.

“Eoin,” Aengus whispered in a gentle voice so as not to abruptly tear him from his headspace. Eoin hummed and blinked up at him, eyes more intently focused on the weathered face of his lover as he eased back into proper awareness. “I want to give you something.”

“Oh?” Eoin stretched and sat himself upright, now mostly back in his body, though still feeling loose and light, as though he might blow away in a strong enough breeze.

“We have been together a long while.” Aengus said carefully, his dark brown eyes boring into the green and blue depths of his lord. Eoin nodded in recognition but remained silent, awake enough to see how serious Aengus' had become.

“We have.” His answer was guarded, but he kept his body relaxed.

“I...” He stopped and started, huffing in exasperation after his mouth open and closed a few times. “Maker, I _practiced_ this.” Aengus muttered and Eoin's heart clenched painfully. Nothing good came from such seriousness. Without realizing it, he began to draw himself away from his lover, to put that little bit of distance between them that would let him deal with whatever Aengus was trying to tell him without revealing any weaknesses.

“Shall I leave you alone to practice more?” Light spoken words, better to hide and distance himself from what was to come. Sure enough, Aengus laughed softly and shook his head, smile still making his dark eyes seemingly _glow_ with happiness when he finally met Eoin's gaze again.

“No. That's not necessary.” He took a deep breath to gather himself before shifting slightly, facing Eoin entirely. “For six months we've done this and it's been good. No, not good. Utterly fantastic. You are perfect and precious and I would do anything you ever asked me to.”

“And yet somehow you wouldn't let me come for _hours._ ” Aengus snorted at Eoin's comment and rolled his eyes, his lips quirked in that disbelieving grin that he only ever had around Eoin.

“I will do it again and you will love every moment of it.” The words were spoken in a thick growl that rendered Eoin rather boneless, his next witticism cut off before it could truly form and his eyes flicking away as he started to shift back into the headspace he'd left behind not too long ago. Aengus' hand lifted his chin with a gentle touch. “What I'm _trying_ to say, you daft man, is that I love you.”

Eoin's world screeched to a halt and his eyes widened. He barely had time to process this new information before Aengus brought his attention down to a silver coin on a finely crafted chain. On one side of the coin, the Cousland crest was delicately etched and on the opposite, Aengus' trademark. Perfectly discrete. No one looking at it would see anything more than a noble bearing his family's crest. No one would see it and think that it had more meaning, that the smith had tied himself to Eoin in more way than craftsman and client.

“I know we can't publicly acknowledge our relationship... but, it would please me greatly if you accepted this token of affection.” Seconds slowly rolled by as Eoin stared in wonder at the small talisman seated in a wide, work-worn palm. Eventually, Aengus shifted uncomfortably and broke the trance that had fallen over Eoin.

“Not fair.” Eoin muttered sourly, lips forming a pout as his eyes tore away from the bit of silver. Aengus looked worried for only a second before catching the look in Eoin's mischievous eyes. “To spring this on me when I have nothing to offer in return.”

“I suppose you'll just have to make it up to me.” Aengus teased. His smile threatening to split his face.

“I suppose I must.” Eoin leaned in and stole a languorous kiss before allowing Aengus to slip the necklace over his head. “Did you make it yourself?”

“Chain and all.” The smith took another kiss from the lordling, wide smile still firmly in place. “No one else has so much as looked at it. Though I would wager Master Reynolds has some inkling that I made a bit of jewelry.”

“I imagine he thinks you're some besotted fool.”

“He'd be right.” The next kiss was slower and deeper, Aengus slowly pushing Eoin unto his back.

Aengus' hand drifted down Eoin's body, caressing and stroking sensitive skin. Soon enough, Eoin was panting with need and trying to guide the touch of his lover _lower_. This was why he was so often denied the use of his hands, his impatience damned him. Aengus had Eoin pinned down and writhing beneath him, the son of the teryn struggling to get _more_ but not yet far enough gone to actually begin begging. Which, of course, was when Eoin's mabari, Pig, began to growl. As far into his headspace as he was, Eoin didn't even notice at first. Aengus, however, did. The shorter man pulled away from Eoin, giving him a firm look when he tried to chase down more kisses.

“Stay put, I'm going to-” The words were cut off when the door to Eoin's room exploded in a rain of wooden shards. Pig snarled and charged the intruders, the momentary shock of the sudden invasion gave an archer in the hall enough time to loose an arrow. It whisked through the air on a high note and embedded itself into flesh with a wet _thunk_.

The sound was enough to tear Eoin out of his shock and he roared as he charged, blind to everything except the armed men at his door. By the time he reached them, Pig had torn out the archer's throat. Eoin, naked as the day he was born, grappled with the warhammer wielding warrior responsible for the broken door. Perhaps it was his nudity that gave him a little bit of an edge over his opponent. In the end, it mattered not that he was unarmed, unarmored, and unprepared. The other warrior lay crumpled beneath him, skull cracked open and oozing red.

Only then did Eoin realize Aengus hadn't moved from the bed.

The arrow was lodged firmly in his skull, had gone right through one of his deep brown eyes. For some reason, this fact didn't register in Eoin's mind. He begged for Aengus to wake up, sobbed as he clutched the still warm body and pleaded for all he was worth. His mother and her guards found him, tear-streaked, covered in blood, and shaking.

<> <> <>

“Eoin!” The frantic voice brought him out of his memories and all he could do was blink as he was rudely shoved into cognizance. He became dimly aware of wetness on his cheeks and firm hands gripping his shoulders. “ _Coraz_ _ó_ _n?_ ” Zevran said the pet name softly and carefully, one hand coming up to wipe away some of the wetness (tears?) that had appeared on Eoin's cheeks. “Are you with me, _amor_?”

He tried to say something reassuring in response, but all that came out was a soft half-whimper -- his throat felt raw, as though he'd been shouting. Zevran shushed him and moved in such a way that somehow allowed him to cradle the far larger man. The assassin ran his fingers through his lover's hair and made soothing noises as finally, after nearly an entire year of willfully living in denial, the dam broke and Eoin collapsed into silent sobs.

 


End file.
